You and I walk a fragile line
by Jinxgirl
Summary: After Rachel rips the photo of herself and Santana and storms out of their apartment, Santana intercepts her, intending to get in her own heated words. When she forces herself onto the elevator with her, the two become trapped inside.
1. Chapter 1

Santana Lopez is not a person who makes verbal apologies. It's not that she never feels regret for the things she does- although generally, she can justify her actions to herself or others to the point that any guilt she feels can be lessened, if not entirely done away with. It isn't that she really believes she never makes mistakes; she knows, despite what she wants others to think, that she is hardly flawless, that she seems to screw up on a regular basis, whether with good or bad intentions in mind. But it is difficult for her to admit to someone out loud that she was wrong, or that she wronged them, to swallow her pride and humble herself to the point that they could hurt her back, so Santana made it a personal practice to never apologize aloud, where her own words could be used against her.

She had never apologized to any of the Glee kids about all the names she had called them to their face and behind their back, for trying and sometimes succeeding in hijacking their dates or making plots against them. She had never apologized to Rachel for the slushies she had either organized herself to be thrown at her, or even for those she stood back witnessing and laughing over, without doing anything to help her out. She hadn't apologized to Mercedes for all the times she had tried to slip things into her food for an embarrassing outcome, and she hadn't apologized to Quinn for all the times they had gotten into slap fights together, for not sticking by her as much as she should have through her pregnancy, for all the times she had thrown Beth and her one-time transgression with Puck in her face to make a point. She hadn't apologized to any of the boys she had used and discarded along the way while she tried to figure out her own feelings, her own sexuality- and how to stop feeling so much and so deeply about Brittany.

Even with Brittany, Santana had never outright apologized for hurting her, and Brittany above all others, Santana always regretted hurting in any way. It made her sick to see that wounded look shadow Brittany's face, the way her blue eyes darkened and her lips turned downward like a kicked puppy. But even more so than seeing Brittany hurt, Santana hated seeing her look disappointed, like she had expected Santana to rise above the vindictive bitchiness everyone else expected out of her and to show her the buried- if sometimes deeply- kind, gentle, even sweet girl that Brittany saw her as, the girl that Brittany loved. Here they were, nearly twenty years old, and Santana had never apologized for breaking up with Brittany, for making her think for so long that she was only a warm body beneath her own. She had never apologized to her for getting her to cheat on Artie, for making her feel that she was ashamed or embarrassed of how they felt for each other, for forcing Brittany to hide.

At least, Santana had never apologized in any official way that could have been documented as a formal expression of regret- but she does and had apologized, over and over, to all of these people, not through her words, but through her actions. Through soft smiles directed their way, linking arms, squeezing their hand, giving them high fives, playfully poking or flicking them, she makes small gestures of approval and appreciation of them, to indicate that she has changed her view of them. She gives and accepts hugs and affection, claps and cheers for their accomplishments, acknowledges their talent and sometimes, even her jealousy of it. Her teasing nicknames become affectionate rather than biting, and sometimes sincere words of praise, support, comfort, or encouragement now leave her lips. She holds back from physical violence and strings of Spanish swear words, even when someone really, really deserves it, and she has even deigned to cuddle a few of the very people she once claimed to despise.

She never said she was sorry, but Santana showed it, the best that she knew how to, and hoped that people received the message.

And that was what she was doing now, standing in the middle of her loft apartment as Rachel Berry piled her belongings together in the living area as slowly as she could, much more slowly than the manic fervor she usually worked herself into when she had a task ahead of her to accomplish. She tried, without saying a word, to convey through her expression and her posture, the way she turned towards her and followed her every move with her eyes, how sorry she was for what had happened between them, how much she wanted to take it back…how much she didn't want Rachel to go.

But Rachel wouldn't look at her, let alone receive her unspoken message, and Santana doubted she even cared.

Santana never would have thought that Rachel Berry had it in her to hit her, Santana Lopez. She wouldn't have thought she would have the nerve, and a year or two ago, she certainly wouldn't have. This year, she wouldn't have thought things could become so bad between them that they would ever revert back to this place of being enemies all over again, even worse than it had been at the start of high school. Back then, Santana had disliked Rachel simply because she was an annoying, loudmouthed dork. But what was going on now had become personal. Santana had let Rachel close, let her see sides of her she never would for someone she didn't trust, someone she didn't love, in her way- someone she considered family. And damn it, who the hell knew how, but Rachel had become all of those things for her.

With anyone else, with the exception of Brittany, she would have hit them back with all the force she could muster; with anyone else, she would have been scratching and kicking and pulling hair, stirred immediately to a state of rage. But it had been Rachel, and Santana had held back, with considerable effort. Because Rachel was her family now, her and Kurt both, even more so now, in some incredibly twisted way, than Quinn had ever been. Because she did somehow inexplicably love the annoying bitch.

So she had been wrong. She had said some shit she shouldn't, deliberately poked at Rachel's sore points exactly where she knew Rachel would rear up in defense. And maybe she was sorry for that, but she'd be damned if it would be the first apology she ever made in her life. Especially because, damn it, she hadn't been trying to betray her at all.

She had known Rachel would flip out about her audition for her understudy as Fanny. She knew it, just like she knew that Rachel was hardly rational or logical about anything that had remotely to do with that stupid Streisand woman and the ten billion ancient things she'd been involved in. But it still stung, still fucking HURT that Rachel had not only overreacted and overpersonalized, but actually gone out of her way to attack and hurt Santana in return. It hurt, much more than she had expected, that Rachel couldn't support her, like she had been supporting her, that Rachel couldn't feel good for her when she did well, when any attention at all was taken away from her own spotlight. When she told Rachel that she only liked Santana to be below her, that she could only like her and support her in a condescending manner, when Santana was lost or failing, she had meant every word without ever having realized before that it was true.

Yeah, she hadn't told Rachel about the audition, not because she wanted to shock her or stick it to her, but because she didn't want her ranting and raving and doing something deliberately to screw her up. And yeah, she had copied Rachel's signature presentation of the song…but not to stick it to her or mock her, or even make a point, like Rachel had accused. She had copied Rachel's performance because for years now, she had been captivated every time she watched her repeat it, because for years, even when she disliked her the most, she could do nothing but admire and acknowledge the talent she showed with this song, the amazing way she owned and presented herself on that stage while singing it. She copied Rachel's moves because, as confident as she was in her own talent, she was also afraid that her interpretation of the song, apart from Rachel's, burned so long into her brain, would not be as good. And honestly, it was a personal bar to vault over. If she could perform as well as Rachel Berry in that song with those moves, then she had made it.

It was a compliment to Rachel rather than a dig, really. But of course, Rachel would never see it that way.

She still didn't think that she was wrong. Okay, maybe she hadn't responded to Rachel in the nicest possible way afterward, though Santana still thought she had been perfectly truthful. Rachel was short, she was awful, sometimes, and she wasn't outdoing Santana. But still, she knew she had hurt Rachel, and honestly, it hurt Santana too, what was happening between them. She didn't like the feeling of paranoia every time Rachel was around, the defensive anger that pressed against her chest, the need to constantly watch and be on guard, ready to insult or point out her flaws before Rachel could do the same for her. She didn't like the way Rachel looked at her now with such suspicion and dislike, even loathing, and she didn't like how Rachel's formerly easy smile was never present on her face when Santana was around. She missed the way the other girl would casually touch her in passing, the way she would tell her good night, every single time, before she went to sleep. She even missed how Rachel would sometimes take her clothes without asking or scurry after her throwing Santana's discarded items on her bed rather than simply yell at her to put them up, like she did now.

Even if she felt it was more Rachel's fault, she wanted to make up with her. She didn't know how much longer she could stand the new iciness between them, the stress she felt every time Rachel was anywhere within her view, and how she had to hide the anxiety and growing depressive feelings it brought to her. Ridiculous as it might be, to give a shit how Rachel Berry felt about her, by some miracle in the past two years, this had become a genuine thing, and Santana, whatever she might tell Rachel, didn't want to lose the relationship they'd built together.

Infuriating as Rachel was, she didn't want her to move out, and she didn't want her to continue being upset with her. So she tried to show it, as Rachel packed her belongings, then went to Kurt, hugging him with tears in her eyes. She positioned herself by the door, so Rachel could not possibly miss walking past her. She held her body at a loose, open angle, her arms dangling at her sides, and kept her posture unguarded, almost inviting a hug. She kept her facial expression soft, and repeatedly, she tried to meet Rachel's eyes, to convey with her body and her eyes what she could not say with her mouth.

Stop…please stop. Come back. Look at me. Talk to me. Hug me, forgive me. Stay. Please stay.

And for a moment, Santana had thought this would happen. When Rachel paused in front of her, looking her in the eye, even though there was still anger in her gaze, a set to her jaw, she took a moment to genuinely hope, to truly think that Rachel would give this a chance. She felt her lips start to curve into a tentative smile, her arms start to lift, meaning to offer her a hug.

But instead, still looking her directly in the eyes, Rachel's hand snatched out, grabbing for a framed picture of herself with Santana resting near. Yanking the picture from the frame, she continued to stare hard into Santana's eyes as she ripped it up in front of her, only inches from her face, and let the pieces fall to the floor. Grabbing her last piece of luggage, she almost pushed past her out the door, never having said one word to address her the entire time.

Santana's eyes opened wide, her lips parting with shock, and she felt her heart begin to beat faster and faster in her chest. Heat pressed against the back of her eyes, and for a quarter of a second or so, she thought she would burst into tears, right in front of Kurt, that she would give in to give Rachel the most satisfaction she could have ever wanted, to let her know just how much she had managed to hurt her, to dig in her claws in the worst possible way. But to her own relief, rekindled rage quickly flared through her, replacing the pain with an ire that left her almost blind and deaf to anything else in her surroundings. How dare she…how fucking DARE she?

Without a second thought she turned on her heels, throwing the door open and then letting it slam behind her as she took off on pursuit, chasing Rachel down the hallway. She could hear Kurt yelling after her, a note of panic in his voice, but she doubted he would try to physically stop her if he thought she was going to attack Rachel- he knew better than to get in the way of an angry Snixxx. It wouldn't have mattered if he had. Santana was well and furious now, and no one was stopping her from making this known.


	2. Chapter 2

Santana intercepted Rachel just before she reached the hallway's elevator, as she was stretching out her hand to press its button. Rachel didn't turn when she heard Santana's heels come clacking down the hallway, but Santana saw her back tense, Rachel straightening up to her full and not very impressive height in response. Santana's own hand shot out, wrapping tightly around Rachel's wrist, and she yanked it back from the elevator button right before Rachel could touch it, holding her hand back where she couldn't press without a struggle. Using this leverage, and the fact that Rachel's other hand was weighed down at her side by her suitcase, she spun her around to face her roughly, eyes narrowed, almost spitting out her words to her as she put her face close to the shorter girl's.

"Oh hell no you don't! Did you seriously think you could just walk away from me after that?! No fucking way, Rachel Berry, this is on!"

"I thought it was on the moment you strode into that auditorium, stealing MY song and MY performance and not giving me so much as one breath of warning, let alone asking for my permission!" Rachel snapped, not giving in an inch to Santana's rather intimidating tone and bodily posture. She didn't try to back away from her, and although she did try to pull her wrist away from her, she did so with a forceful dignity, as though Santana was beneath her to even attempt to protest against. "If you would remove your hand from me now, Santana, and allow me to make an exit from the apartment that you decided to take residence at uninvited, just as you always seem to put yourself exactly where you are neither needed nor wanted, then we can both be on our way to my fabulous future and your sad, attention-seeking, scene-stealing way of life, if you could call it that."

It took every ounce of self-control Santana only recently had learned to even possess to keep her from ripping her hand from Rachel's wrist to slap her across the face with all the force she could muster. As it was, she started to dig her nails hard into the girl's skin, her face heating with her fury at the comment. She heard her voice rise several octaves, almost rivaling Rachel's in pitch as she yelled back at her.

"Uninvited?! You fucking invited me to live with you back at CHRISTMAS, when you were so drunk off your ass you were practically groping and making out with me! You make all these half-ass comments and then when people take you up on them you act like you never said shit because it now inconveniences the world of Rachel Scary! You have the nerve to call ME sad and attention seeking?! You sent a chick to a crack house so you wouldn't have your so-called stardom detracted from for half a second! You made everyone in the entire school hate you for constantly running your mouth and forcing your damn wants and will and fucking insane need to be a songbird run over everything in your path! What the fuck do you think you're doing right this second, you're moving out of your own damn apartment and freaking out like it's a nuclear war zone erupting out of your oversized schnozz just because for one three minute song, someone else was getting more attention than you were and doing just as well- no, doing BETTER!"

"I have nothing more to say to you, Santana, except that in no known universe, no matter how twisted it might be, would you ever be better at me in anything other than how far apart you can spread your legs," Rachel shot back. Making a renewed effort to pull her wrist away, she readjusted her grip on her suitcase, trying to turn back towards the elevator to enter it again, but as Santana squeezed her wrist again, even harder, she gave a gasp of pain, turning to glare at her. "You're going to bruise me, I have very sensitive skin, Santana!"

"You're going to have a very sensitive face when I fucking knock your teeth out," Santana threatened, though her grip on the girl may have loosened marginally after she said this- but still not enough for Rachel to easily pull free of her. "You might not have anything to say, which would be a fucking shocker there since all Rachel Berry ever does is run her mouth, but I have a hell of a lot, and for once in your spoiled, oblivious, unbelievably entitled existence, you're gonna hear me out. How dare you-" and here she grabbed Rachel's shoulder with her free hand, forcing the girl to turn to more fully face her when Rachel started to roll her eyes and shake her head, trying again to pull her wrist away. "How DARE you pull this shit on me like you're a victim? You go on and on for the past FOUR YEARS about love and friendship how we're all FAMILY, how we all have to stick together and support each other and accept each other for who we are and we all have this part to play, like a lame, disgustingly cheesy after school special! YOU are the one who MADE yourself part of my life, YOU are the one that pranced around hugging me and grabbing my hand even back in senior year and making me put that damn picture, which completely made you look like a Manson girl, in my locker, then YOU were the one who started all the cheesy roommate ritual shit, and even if you were too hammered to remember it YOU asked me to move in with you!"

By now she was almost screaming, completely infuriated, the more she thought through this, but what shook Santana up the most was that even she could hear the hurt coloring her tone. Rachel Berry had hurt her feelings, and how could she admit that even to herself, let alone to Rachel? How could she let her gloat over that and consider herself victorious, for actually managing in any way to wound the girl who was never quite satisfied about a verbal battle until she drew metaphorical blood?

"You actually have the nerve to say that we were PRETENDING to be friends?! Yeah, I was just pretending to fucking stalk your ho-bag boy toy and get his ass beat to a pulp, I was just PRETENDING to let you snot all over me and take you to the fucking pregnancy clinic because you were too stupid to listen to me AND too stupid to wear a condom! I was just PRETENDING to get you that damn job at the diner and practically make myself a prostitute to do it, I was just PRETENDING to tolerate you waking me up shrilling high enough to break windows if you own face doesn't do the job at the ass crack of dawn. I guess I was just pretending to tolerate you snoring like a dying grizzly bear and taking up perfectly good fridge space with your vegan shit and listening to your damn elliptical go all hours of the day and listening to your shrill, loud, soul sucking voice all day long, yammering on about your so-called hypothetical STARDOM and what a special snowflake you are compared to everyone else. That was all pretend so what, I could one day audition as your UNDERSTUDY?! So I could have a tiny, minor possibility that one day I MIGHT do something BECAUSE YOU CAN'T?! So I can be fucking beneath you?! Yeah, I'd put up with all that bullshit and go above and beyond myself for you and fake being able to tolerate you instead of just decking you every time you open that huge mouth of yours just for that glimmer of a chance that I could RANK FUCKING BENEATH YOU?!"

"You didn't do nearly as many sort of nice things as you did mean ones back in high school, and I know you, Santana Lopez, you're always plotting, you're always scheming to get your way, you never really changed at all-" Rachel started, but Santana didn't let her get any further than that, her eyes almost popping with renewed reason for her ire. She let go of Rachel's wrist then, almost flinging it away from her as though it burned to touch, but she didn't let her back away and she didn't remove her face from being very near to hers as she spat back at her.

"Tell me, Rachel, when is the last time you know of that I did that? When I came up with some huge plan just to screw someone over with no other purpose behind it? How old were we, sixteen, seventeen? We're almost twenty years old, we're supposed to be fucking adults, and you think I'm the same girl in ponytail with a Cheerio costume? I've been helping you for almost two fucking YEARS! I put up with you and your bullshit for two YEARS, now name one time, Rachel, one fucking time in those two years that I deliberately set out to hurt you or screw you over! Come on, Rachel, go! Name it, where's my list? Drown me in the sea of my own evil misdeeds, go, go!"

She gave Rachel no chance to come up with any. Instead she plunged ahead, her voice maintaining heat as her eyes nearly burned holes into Rachel's with their intensity of feeling.

"Oh, you're having trouble thinking of any, right? So tell me this, Rachel, how many times have I helped you pick out outfits that didn't make you look like the troll you are? How many times have I listened to your practice and refrained from strangling you and even made helpful suggestions? How many times have I listened to you whine about school and even helped you do some of it? How many times have I traded shifts at work for you or stepped in to blast some creeper for you? How many times have I told Lady Gayface to pipe down when he starts getting too shrill and mama-hen for you, how many times have I picked up your disgusting soy milk from the store and didn't ask for money for it? How many times did I go out of my way, above and beyond, to warn you and maybe even fucking save your life and health over that damn gigolo ex of yours? And how many times-"

Here she paused, sucking in a sharp breath, and her hands were trembling now. Santana bit down on her lower lip, seeming to make an effort to control a suddenly sharp increase in her emotion, and she lowered her voice, but it was still wavering as she continued.

"How many nights did I get you into the shower after Finn and scrub you down myself because you weren't doing it yourself? How many times did I sit with you and make sure you would eat, how many times did I get in bed and hold you until you cried yourself to sleep? How many times, Rachel?"

She swallowed, the gesture both audible and visible, and her voice was still shaking when she managed, in a slightly louder tone, "Don't you EVER tell me that I was just pretending to be your friend."

Rachel too was trembling now, and Santana watched the emotions flitting across her eyes, the way her hands had balled into loose fists, the muscles of her arms taut and trembling. She shook her head, licking her lips, and when she responded her voice was shaky too, her eyes averted from Santana's.

"You…you don't get to talk about Finn, Santana. You just- you don't."

"Why?" Santana pressed, her words softer now, but no less barbed. "Was anything I said a lie?"

"Because," Rachel struggled, shaking her head, her lips pursed together tightly all over again. "Because…" she shook her head, then burst out with, "Because you never- it's not-"

She didn't finish the sentence; Santana wouldn't have let her. One tanned hand shot out to take hold of Rachel's shoulder, squeezing just enough to convey her intent, and as the taller girl looked her directly in the eyes, Rachel's mouth slowly shut even before Santana spoke.

"Don't you dare, Rachel…don't you dare."

She watched her for a moment or two, seeing Rachel swallow, before she slowly removed her hand, yet remained close to her, her posture somewhat intimidating in its position over her.

"You can deny it all you want, but you know, Rachel, I've been your fucking friend. But I want you to ask yourself…how many times did you help me over the past two years, really help me without getting anything out of it yourself? How many times have you supported me or encouraged me when it wasn't convenient for you or when you weren't feeling awesome yourself? How many times have you gone out of your way for me, where you didn't just look like the generous one casting down to a lower status friend? Excuse me, PRETEND friend."

"Don't be ridiculous," Rachel started, her voice starting to regain some of its former heat, but Santana held up a hand- noting and feeling some gratification when Rachel flinched.

"You fucking hit me, Rachel. You fucking bitch slapped me like I was an abusive boyfriend or something. I might have thrown slushies at you, I might have organized slushy throws, I might have called you some pretty fucked up shit over the years, I might have even threatened to beat you up, but I never actually laid a hand on you and I never fucking BITCH SLAPPED you. Don't you even try to excuse that, because you, you may have been PRETENDING to be my friend but I wasn't pretending shit. You wanna tell me I never changed? Tell me, Rachel, did you? Not that I can fucking see, except getting more selfish and more willing to throw tantrums and backstab your way into everywhere you want to go, with no one now to keep your ego in check for you. You think you're hot stuff now because you live in New York City and stopped dressing like a muppet? You think-"

"Keep twisting it, Santana, you're good at that," Rachel interrupted, shaking her head. "I've had enough. I have places to go and things to do, unlike you, obviously, and you've held me up long enough."

"Don't you dare turn your back on me, Rachel Berry, or I swear I'll rip your hair out!" Santana threatened as the girl turned back towards the elevator, pressing the button, and she reached to grab at her hand again, though not before Rachel had managed to press it.

"I'd make the same threat, except I understand how much money you throw away on those ridiculous extensions, and I know you'll never be able to afford to replace them since you can't get any decent work on your own without stealing off of my opportunities, and soon your sham will be exposed next to my own bright shining stardom," Rachel shot back at her as the elevator doors opened up. "And now I'm going."

She stepped into the elevator, but as she did so, Santana was blocking the doors from closing, squeezing her way inside with her. An indignant mini skirmish of both girls pushing at each other, Rachel trying to force Santana out, Santana trying to force her way in, broke out, rampant with shouting and cursing on both sides, but eventually Santana managed to get herself fully inside, the doors closed, and there was nothing either could do to force the other in or out.

"You are so infuriating!" Rachel hissed, glaring furiously in Santana's direction as the other girl leaned back against the opposite wall, sending an equally hateful stare in her direction. "What do you think you're doing, Santana, following me to my new home? You're not wanted there, just like you were never wanted at my first one!"

"Well you would know about being unwanted, wouldn't you, just ask Shelby!" Santana shot back. Seeing the wounded look on Rachel's face, the way she sucked in her breath, she was almost sorry for it- almost. But not when Rachel came back swinging.

"I suppose I could do the same in your case, once I have a chat with Brittany and of course, your abuela-"

"Don't you fucking even," Santana's finger lifted, pointing tremulously in Rachel's direction, only a few inches from her face. "Don't fucking EVEN-"

The elevator had been slowly descending, much more slowly than usual, but the two girls were considerably more caught up in their conversation and hadn't quite noticed. It wasn't until the movement suddenly ceased and the elevator came to a loud, jerky halt that the girls cut off their bickering, eyes opening wide as they began to look around themselves in the small space of its interior. They waited for the door to open, for the elevator to ding an announcement of their arrival on the correct floor. But instead, the elevator's interior lighting slowly began to dim, then shut off entirely, and a complete darkness settled in around them. There was no pinging, no announcements of any kind, and the doors remained shut.


	3. Chapter 3

Santana knew, of course, that Rachel had a wide vocal range, as she frequently proved it every morning by practicing her scales exactly when Santana was in her deepest, most restful sleep. She had been forced to start sleeping in ear plugs every night because of her insistence in this. But when Rachel screamed then, her mouth located less than two feet away from Santana's ear, she had to dimly register some amazement at the new and amazing highness of its pitch, even as she also ducked, covering her ears in instinctive self-protection, and felt a nearly irresistible urge to swing her arm out to hit the other girl as hard as she could.

"Shut the hell up!" she hollered over Rachel's shriek, almost having to bellow to be heard. "I'm already blind in here, don't you dare make me fucking deaf too!"

"The elevator stopped! The elevator stopped, why did the elevator stop?!" Rachel yelped, her speaking voice hardly lower in tone and pitch to Santana's ears than her screaming one had been. Although she wasn't touching Santana, and she had moments before the elevator stopped been standing as far apart from her in its confines as was possible, she sounded to her as though she were practically standing on top of her, breathing down her neck. And then a sudden sharp pressure on the back of her ankle and a blast of hot air stirring her hair told Santana that this was actually the case.

"There's no light, there's no movement, I don't hear or see anything! Why is it doing this, what did you DO to it?!"

"What did I do to it?!" Santana almost yelled back at her, incredulous. "Are you fucking joking here?! You think I DID something to make the elevator stop, so I could be stuck in here with you just because that is EXACTLY what I want right now?! Get off my fucking foot, Rachel, ow!"

She shoved out in what she thought was the general direction of where Rachel was standing, and when the girl screamed again, almost as shrilly as the first time, doubled over, covering her ears. When she had cut herself off, a little more quickly this time than before, Santana stamped her foot, which immediately caused a third yelping from Rachel.

"Rachel, SHUT UP, JESUS, stop it before I beat you to death with my fucking shoe!"

"Stop stomping your foot, you'll make us crash!" Rachel squeaked, genuine terror in her voice as what she saw to be an imminent possibility. "This is probably exactly what you wanted, Santana, you knew this would happen! It's your fault- you were pushing at the doors, you made them let you in, you probably broke it!"

"If I could fucking see you right now, I would bitch slap you THROUGH the damn doors and make a nice hole for myself to climb out of!" Santana snapped back at her. "Would you stay the hell back, I KNOW you're right up on me and I don't want you breathing anywhere in my vicinity, let alone stomping on the back of my new Candies! Back up or I swear I'm gonna stomp YOU through the floor. Get back, get back!"

She could hear Rachel gulping for air, her breathing shallow and strained, annoyingly loud to Santana's hearing, but she did also sense that the girl had backed a step or two up. Santana was fumbling for her cell phone, cursing to herself under her breath, when she realized with sudden, sickening dread. She was wearing very tight jeans, much too tight for a cell phone to slip into a pocket. She was wearing no jacket and had carried no purse. She had left their apartment in such a haste, intent only upon intercepting Rachel, that she hadn't even carried her keys, let alone a cell phone.

Her head snapping up, she leveled a fierce gaze in the general direction of where she assumed Rachel to be, which wasn't very hard, given the noisiness of her breathing. "Berry, tell me you have a cell phone somewhere on you. Stuck in your suitcase, in your clothes, somewhere…you have one. Right? You have a friggin' cell phone. Right?"

Rachel didn't verbally answer, but Santana heard her swallow noisily. Her breathing seemed to get even louder than it had been before, faster and more ragged in tempo. As Santana's muscles in her back and neck tensed up, and she took a step forward, where she assumed Rachel to be standing, her voice rose slightly, intensifying in tone. "Rachel, you have a cell phone. So we can call for help. You do. Don't you? Right?"

Rachel's voice was slow in coming, and when it did, it was small, shaky, and sounding on the border of pure panic. "N-no…"

"You don't have your cell phone?!" Santana heard the first note of panic creep into her tone, though it wasn't quite as noticeable as the outrage much more strongly present. "Neither one of us has a cell phone?!"

"I left my cell phone in my purse, and my purse was in the suitcase that was already in the cab, which by the way is probably still waiting for me down there charging me a ridiculously exorbitant price for how long we've kept him waiting, which was entirely your own fault because you were the one who detained me!" Rachel defended, and although Santana couldn't see this, she knew that the girl was more than likely pointing an accusing and shaky finger in her direction. "He probably is stealing my luggage right now, he could be taking my money and my credit card and my ID! He could be-"

"Yeah, because some middle aged New York cabbie wants to pretend to be Rachel Berry from Lima!" Santana snapped back, raising her voice over her. "Get with the bigger and more important picture, Rachel! We're stuck in a damn elevator without a cell phone, how the hell are we supposed to let people know we need out?"

Without waiting for her to reply, she reached out a hand, feeling her way blindly until she hit an elevator wall with her fingers. Inching forward, tracing along the wall, Santana's grasping hand hit what felt like Rachel's elbow. When the girl shrieked all over again, Santana shoved out at her blindly, hissing.

"Shut the hell up, you KNOW it's just me! Who the hell else would be grabbing you in here right now?!"

"What are you DOING, I think you did that on purpose…this isn't funny, this…Santana, this really isn't funny, if this is a joke, or, or some really horrible way to get back at me, it's really not- Santana what are you doing?!"

Santana, having located the elevator's panel for the buttons for the floors, was now blindly pressing at whatever button she could feel beneath her fingers, attempting to invoke some sort of reaction. Nothing was happening as a result, except she soon felt small, cold, but surprisingly strong fingers scrabbling at her hands as Rachel tried to push her away from doing so.

"Stop it, Santana!"

"Do you have a better solution? Because yours so far seems to be crouching in the corner screeching, and as of now it hasn't yet melted the elevator walls apart, though if you try hard enough it's probably gonna. If it doesn't disintegrate the bones of my skull first," Santana shot back at her, shaking her head. As she was speaking she continued to press buttons, sometimes two or three at a time, trying a combination, any combination, that seemed possible to open the elevator doors. The elevator buttons were not even lighting up, however, and she could not tell which ones it was that she was pressing.

"Santana, STOP!" Rachel's voice rose in volume and pitch, and she shoved harder at her hands, now trying to grab hold of them and pull them away from the elevator buttons entirely. When she managed to entwine her fingers in one of her hands, yanking it towards her own chest to trap it there, Santana had to try to knock her aside with her shoulder, trying to properly reach to continue being able to press the buttons.

"There's probably an emergency button, Berry, or one of those call or intercom buttons, how the hell else am I gonna get out of here if I don't PRESS it?!"

"You're going to make it jam MORE!" Rachel hissed, squeezing Santana's hand until Santana heard someone's knuckles actually pop. "Stop, you'll make it worse!"

"It's pretty damn well jammed, Berry, how am I possibly gonna make it more jammed than it is already when it's already TOTALLY JAMMED?" Santana pointed out.

Trying to knock her out of the way with a jut of her hip against Rachel's, she reached for the buttons again, only to freeze in place when Rachel inserted her body in between Santana's hand and the buttons, pressing her back against them so Santana would be forced to bodily move her in order to reach them. Her other hand still tightly grasped in Santana's, not letting the taller girl pull it free, she shook her head vehemently, something that Santana knew only because her hair kept whipping back and forth, hitting her in the face and shoulders in their proximity together.

"No! No, no, no, stop it, no, no, NO!"

"Oh, what the hell ever," Santana groaned, backing a step away. "Stop whipping me with your damn hair, this is already more than punishment enough."

She finally succeeded in breaking her hand out of Rachel's panicky grasp, pushing back from her and noting with a tiny, reluctant bit of pleasure that her hands had pushed off from Rachel's chest in the process. Okay, it was an accidental groping but that didn't mean that she had to totally hate it or anything. Feeling her way along the walls again, Santana tried to inch her way back towards the elevator doors. Once she felt the tell-tale crack between them that indicated she was in the correct spot, she tried to press her fingers in between the crack, straining and pulling to try to force them open. She could hear Rachel, still undoubtedly guarding the elevator buttons, her breathing rapid and uneven as she listened to her.

"Santana, what are you doing? Santana? Santana!"

"I'm TRYING to get us the hell out of here before I beat you to death with your own midget arm," Santana muttered, continuing to strain and pull against the unbudging steel doors. "You just had to be a lazy ass and take the elevator instead of the stairs for ONE suitcase, didn't you, you just HAD to use the most dramatic exit route possible…"

"Santana, stop! If you open the elevator doors when we're stuck in between the floors, you could fall out and through and down to the bottom! Then the elevator could get unstuck and crush you beneath it when it falls!" Rachel gasped, but she was making no steps forward that Santana could hear to stop her, so she ignored her, continuing to try, cursing aloud.

"Well wouldn't that just devastate your spirit, since you could then be assured you would never have to have your spotlight threatened by me again?" she muttered back at her in between rounds of cursing, both in Spanish and English. As she continued to push at the doors, Rachel's voice rose higher and higher, until she was outright screaming.

"Santana, stop it…stop it, Santana, that isn't going to help…Santana, don't…SANTANA STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT!"

Santana's head whipped around, newly shook up by the high pitch and obvious intense panic in Rachel's tone. She gave up after one more pull, telling herself that it was more to save her eardrums and because she herself was tired and choosing to quit than because Rachel was demanding it of her. She held up both hands as though in surrender, though she realized as soon as she did so that Rachel would not be able to see her in the total darkness of the elevator.

"Okay, okay, I stopped, happy? Cool your midget tits. I stopped. We have absolutely no chance whatsoever of the elevator magically opening on its own since you won't allow me to try to do anything to actually proactively take care of the situation, but as long as you're friggin' happy, that's all that ever matters, right? …Berry, will you calm the hell down, what is your problem NOW?"

For Santana could still hear Rachel in the corner, her breath coming in sharp whistles of air in and out of her lungs. The other girl was gasping for breath, wheezing in a manner so unlike Rachel's usual freakish breath control that Santana was reluctantly concerned in spite of herself. She took a step forward in Rachel's general direction, listening to her, and realized pretty quickly, even before Rachel began to sputter in an effort to talk, that she was hyperventilating.

"We're going to fall…the elevator will crash and we'll be stuck in a low atmosphere where the air is too dense and we can't breathe! I already can't breathe…Santana, I can't breathe! There's not enough air in here, we're going to run out of air! It's a very small place and the carbon dioxide will take over and there won't be enough oxygen! Santana, we aren't going to have enough air!"

"There would be a hell of a lot more oxygen and air if you'd stop sucking it all in with your wailing, you're the one hogging it up," Santana's eyes rolled to the ceiling, and she slumped back against the closest elevator wall, thoroughly fed up. The situation was bad enough without adding Rachel Berry's dramatics to it. Why couldn't she shut the hell up and actually let her try to do something to fix the situation?

But Rachel was in no mood to even partly listen to her, let alone take offense. She was still gasping, almost wheezing as she addressed Santana with growing urgency.

"Santana, I can't breathe…there's no air, I won't be able to breathe!"

"So take your shirt off, Berry," Santana rolled her eyes again, crossing her arms over her chest and smirking to herself, though she knew Rachel couldn't see. "I hear it helps your lung capacity to have less clothing over your chest or something…holy shit, are you actually taking me seriously?"

She couldn't see it, of course, but she could hear Rachel fumbling around with her clothing, sounding as though she were struggling to lift her shirt over her head. Coming forward a few more steps, giving a faint disbelieving laugh, Santana shook her head at her, raising her voice.

"Hey. Will you chill out? I was kidding, calm down already!"

"This is no joke, Santana!" Rachel nearly wailed, still struggling with her shirt. It seemed that she was breathing too heavily, her hands shaking too badly to be able to concentrate on taking it off appropriately and easily. "Without proper oxygen for a prolonged period of time, my lungs could be permanently damaged! I could never sing again! What would I do with myself, how could I even live my life without being able to sing to my full range?!"

"Oh, you have got to be joking," Santana said with loud incredulity, slapping her hand against her own leg for emphasis. "We're stuck in the dark in a damn elevator, and you're not worried about starving to being stuck here forever like a normal damn person, you're not worried about being with someone you hate or having to piss in the corner or eat your own socks to survive…you're worried that it might affect your SINGING VOICE?! You truly are unbelievably insane!"

But although she believed with utter conviction that this was true- certainly anyone who had just blurted out what Rachel had shared with her was hardly totally normal in her thinking- there was a bigger problem at hand. Rachel was now clearly hyperventilating, her breath straggling audibly in and out of her lungs, and her loud gasping and wheezing, her hiccupping sobs and sputtering attempts to speak, were very much distracting. Santana could not possibly think of any semi credible means for them to get out of their predicament with her making that kind of noise, and it was very irritating to hear; the sooner she could shut her up, the better she could cope with the situation at hand herself. Because if she didn't end up dying in this elevator she would strangle Rachel for sure, and she wasn't about to go down because Rachel couldn't stop acting like a frightened Yorkie on energy pills.

Or that was what she told herself, anyway. It wasn't like she really cared if Rachel was scared or not, it wasn't like she actually wanted to help her. She just wanted to keep her own sanity, that was all.


	4. Chapter 4

"Will you just calm DOWN, already," she said gruffly, more under her breath to herself than with any hope that Rachel would hear and obey, but then, with a loud sigh, Santana squatted to what she thought must be approximately in front of Rachel, glad that she was wearing jeans for once rather than her usual tight dress, which would have made the position difficult to maneuver comfortably. Heaving another sigh, she talked loudly but not unkindly in front of Rachel, not yet reaching out to touch her.

"Rachel, put your shirt back on, you're hardly gonna help yourself out if you bust your bra open with all that chest heaving crap you've got going on. Calm down. We're gonna get out, okay? Have you ever actually heard of someone starving to death in an elevator any time recently? Calm down."

"I-I c-can't," Rachel gasped, and the near terror in her tone pricked uncomfortably at a sympathy in Santana that she did not want to feel or have. "S-Santana I c-can't-"

"Yes you can, you're just not trying hard enough," Santana informed her. "You're freaking out thinking of all things that could go wrong instead of what you should be thinking of, which is that you're perfectly okay. At least for now. Look…lean back against the elevator wall-"

"Wh-what if I…what if I put too much pressure and it c-crashes-"

"Oh, jesus Christ, Berry, if it crashes because of your leprechaun equivalent weight, then we're already doomed, so just do it, okay?" Santana snapped. She expected Rachel to continue to resist her, but the girl did seem to be shifting backwards. When she guessed that Rachel had done as she asked, she continued to instruct her.

"Okay. Now lean forward and put your head down on your knees, between them if you can."

"I'm going to g-get a head rush-"

"Rachel, I swear, if you don't just DO what I'm asking, I'm gonna start jumping up and down as hard as I can," Santana threatened. Rolling her eyes when she heard Rachel suck in a horrified breath, she gentled her voice just slightly. "Put your head between your knees and breathe out when I say to. In and out. Count to ten."

Even so Rachel seemed to be having difficulty with this. She was sucking in breaths too fast, too unevenly, and couldn't seem to follow Santana's voice. Eventually Santana exhaled, coming up with another tactic.

"Look, Rachel," she said, and after a long moment of hesitation, she put her hand gently in between the other woman's shoulder blades, rolling her eyes again when she could feel her spine shuddering beneath her touch. She began to rub in a gentle but firm circle, taking slow, exaggerated breaths herself to show her. "See? In, out. Count to five for each breath in and out. Look, do you feel me breathe?"

After another hesitation, she took hold of Rachel's hand in her own, drawing it up to her chest, where she spread Rachel's cold, shaking fingers over her heart. She kept it there, trying to slow her own breathing even further to better illustrate her point. "Do what I'm doing. In and out, and for the love of all things unholy if you throw up on me this shit is getting on."

It took somewhere in between five and ten minutes, every single one of those minutes seeming to Santana to last an excruciatingly long time. But eventually Rachel's breathing did begin to slow, if not to what she could have called a normal tempo, close enough within the range of acceptable that Santana herself could marginally relax. Even if this had officially become one of her top ten worst days, she could at minimum remain reasonably certain that Rachel would not choke on her own tongue in front of her or something.

It was not unfamiliar, this action. It was in fact something Santana had become accustomed to, in the months immediately following Finn's death. Sitting with Rachel, stroking her hair, holding her hand, or, as she was doing now, rubbing her back, trying to physically hold her together with hands that felt so very inadequate for the job. Santana remembered all too well how very small and hopeless she had felt, how she had been frightened that Rachel's tears would never stop, that she would dehydrate herself into a dry husk of human flesh. She remembered the nights that she too could not seem to stop her own tears and had sniffled and sobbed into Rachel's hair, trying desperately and most likely failing to let the other girl see how she too was aching with a raw and nearly physical pain.

It was this familiarity that had made her reach out to Rachel, despite the rift in between them now, despite the hurt and pride that had reared itself to split them apart. It was because she could not for long stand to see Rachel suffering, could not stand to see her in pain, without an automatic need to try to put it right. But it was the familiarity as well that made Santana uncomfortable, that made her want to withdraw her hands and step far away from her, to avoid being sucked back into that place of shared suffering and empathy.

Rachel hated her now, and Santana, if she could not quite convince herself that she hated Rachel, at the very least hated how Rachel made her feel. She couldn't let herself start to soften on that. Could she?

Abruptly she stopped rubbing Rachel's back, loosened her grip on her fingers, although she did not entirely remove her touch from her. Her voice was somewhat gruff when she spoke to her again.

"You going to survive the next ten seconds on your own or do I have to keep reminding you that breathing is not an optional decision?"

"I'm okay," Rachel assured her, after a long, slow inhalation in, followed by an exhalation that Santana could feel strongly against her hand. "Well, I'm not okay, because this situation we are in is more than definitely not okay. But…I will survive, yes. Hopefully so."

But when Santana started to withdraw her hands, she felt cold fingers reach out to grab her wrist, squeezing firmly. Then Rachel's hand was fumbling for hers, her fingers entwining tightly with Santana's own.

"Santana…will you hold my hand?" Rachel's voice was small, a little embarrassed, but sincere in the question. "It's just that it's dark in here. And I know we are currently in a mutually distasteful relationship, but this is a very unsettling situation and I like to know where you are at all times-"

"Why, because you're afraid I might shank you when you least expect it, given this golden opportunity and all?" Santana's voice was acidic as she responded, but Rachel was shaking her head, denying any suspicion intentions.

"No, Santana. Because it's dark and scary and I just…it's a little better when you know at all times that someone else is here too. Please, will you just…just while we're here, can we have…please can we have a truce? Just for now? I know it's a lot to ask as well but can you please…Santana, please hold my hand?"

Although Santana couldn't see Rachel in the darkness, she turned her head towards her anyway, attempting to make out a vague outline of her features as she shook her head, disbelieving. "You're really something else, aren't you?"

"I know," Rachel admitted, her voice apprehensive, but she didn't drop the request. "Please, will you? Please?"

Santana didn't respond to her out loud. Instead she just readjusted her grip on Rachel's fingers, making them fit more naturally into her own. She didn't squeeze Rachel's hand or stroke her thumb over its back, but neither did she pull away.

She heard Rachel let out a relieved sigh and rolled her eyes to herself, irritated by the girl's neediness, but not enough so to change her mind. Not saying anything, she held her hand, somewhat surprised when the girl spoke again.

"Thank you, Santana."

Santana shrugged, swallowing back the sarcastic reply that immediately came to her mind. Instead she held Rachel's hand in silence, for about ten seconds, before the girl broke it once more.

"We are going to get out, Santana. Right? We definitely are?"

"Yes, Rachel," Santana heaved another loud sigh, almost gritting her teeth with her reply. "At some point in the history of time, we're getting out. Because, as we have already pointed out, I can't remember one single friggin' time I've heard about someone being stuck in an elevator for thirty years."

"Well, there's a first time for everything, Santana…and what if they simply don't find those incidents worth reporting on the news? Or what if they cover them up out of embarrassment or a conspiracy to keep silent about the dangerous nature of elevators in old apartment? Or what about those people who get walled up alive and stuck in chimneys, that has certainly happened, Santana, and an elevator really isn't all that different in nature-" Rachel started. Santana could hear the anxiety building in her voice and quickly cut her off, speaking over her with no shortage of exasperation.

"Rachel, this is an apartment in New York City, not a castle in medieval times. People use this elevator every friggin' day, because they're too damn lazy to walk a single floor. SOMEONE has probably already been out there mashing buttons to try to make it work, in fact, it's probably their fault we're stuck. Not to mention, Lady Hummel probably has had about ten heart attacks waiting for me to get back thinking I'm beating you to death with the closest newspaper stand or something. He's probably already phoned the FBI or at the very least, gossip central Lima. Trust me, we'll be missed out the facts will be added up sooner or later. We're probably gonna be out within the next hour."

"HOUR?" Rachel's voice rose to a high and scary pitch, and Santana heard her breathing start to pick up speed again. Irritated, she sighed aloud again, then put her hand begrudgingly on her back, beginning to rub even as she talked in a tone that wasn't exactly warm and fuzzy in nature.

"Berry, I swear if you start sucking up our existing oxygen again freaking out over logistics, I'm gonna end your misery and my own by knocking you unconscious. Surely you'd use way less air that way and I'd be entirely happier for it. Calm down, okay? We'll get out. Period."

She rubbed Rachel's back for another minute or two until she could feel the girl calming down. Finally Rachel choked out, "Santana, I just…I don't want to die in here," which of course provoked another round of eye rolling from Santana again. The melodrama of living with Rachel Berry never ceased to amaze her at times.

"Well if you'd actually let me do things to try to get us out faster, the chances of that would go down significantly, but rest assured they're already low. Don't worry, Berry, you're not going to die in a freaking elevator or any time soon. You're going to live to annoy and infuriate everyone for the next 90 years because that's exactly what you hobbit types do."

For a few minutes it seemed that her talking combined with her stroking of Rachel's back was helping the other girl to calm down. But then Rachel spoke again, her voice still choked with fear and strong emotion.

"Santana…I can't die in here, I haven't done anything I was supposed to do with my life yet. I haven't even done enough for it to be considered a tragedy. It would just be sad, but it wouldn't gut the entire world. I have to get out, people have to take notice when it's my time."

There were so many things that Santana could have said to this. She could have asked her genuinely why it was that Rachel so desperately felt a need to leave a mark on the world, why she demanded that everyone acknowledge her at the very least, even if they didn't love her. She could have told her that she had already made her mark in the lives and hearts of those who mattered most, that no matter how much they might try or want to, they would never be able to forget her. She could have told her that her death would be a tragedy not only because she was young and talented, but because she was wanted, because she was loved. She could have reminded her of how deeply they were all still impacted by Finn's death, when he too had done nothing "extraordinary" in his short life- nothing, that is, except to be a genuinely good and kind, if imperfect, person, a person who gave others his love.

She could have told her all of this, but it was too hard, too much to even think to herself, let alone say aloud, so Santana went for the easiest response, as she most often chose.

"It always comes back to this for you, doesn't it?" she exhaled, shaking her head, but the exasperation in her tone was only partly genuine. "Do you ever NOT think of Broadway and ambition and being a mega famous singer? Do you ever think of anything else that could possibly occur in the course of your life? Anything? Family, kids, writing books, having fan clubs, even, going to every theme park in the world, traveling overseas? Don't you have any goals that are just fun and about living life, like having a naked sushi eating party or going to a nude beach, learning to scuba dive or knit your own dildo cover or something? Does every single goal you ever have coincide solely with becoming a huge Broadway star?"

She didn't expect Rachel to really answer, and if she did, she would have thought the girl would launch into a long and defensive speech in response. But instead the girl's reply came quietly, sincerely, and without irony.

"Yes…yes, Santana, they are."

Santana still couldn't make out Rachel's features in the elevator's dark interior, but she stilled her hand on her back, looking in what she thought must be the direction of Rachel's face. She could hear the girl's still slightly heavy breathing, close to her own face, and she frowned, thinking of what she had just been told. It seemed very sad, to have that sort of mentality, that view of life, and yet so very Rachel, not unexpected at all.

She tried to come up with a response and failed; each response seemed somehow inadequate to what it was she wanted to say. Finally she just decided to remain quiet, her hand loosely in Rachel's without hardly feeling the girl's fingers at all. It was not Santana, but Rachel who spoke again. She knew that Rachel must have turned her head towards her, because she felt the ends of her hair brush her shoulder before she spoke.

"Why? What about you? What amazing goals have you set for your life?"

Santana bristled, expecting Rachel to be speaking sarcastically, but when she thought over her tone, that didn't seem to be the case. She seemed genuinely curious, as though she perhaps really did want to know. Santana regarded her, considering, and weighed the risks of being truthful. She was feuding with Rachel, after all; how did she know that she wouldn't just take what she told her and use it against her, use it to hurt her that much more?

But talking seemed to be keeping Rachel calm. If nothing else she had stopped that horrible wheezing noise, and the death grip on her hand had eased. As much as Santana hated to seriously talk about herself or her feelings sometimes, that was an improvement, so she sighed, giving in to the discussion that Rachel seemed to want. Still, she chose her words carefully and kept her voice as controlled as possible.

"I don't know. I thought I'd end up with Brittany and the goals would sort of form from there. I still wonder sometimes…but I don't know now. I guess I don't really have very many goals right now."

"Then why are you trying to take my goal away from me, if you don't know what you want?"

Rachel's voice was quiet in tone, not cruel, but firm, and Santana felt her fingers tighten in hers. She tensed, feeling her jaw set unconsciously as Rachel continued.

"You can do anything, Santana, you can go anywhere, be anything, and you'd be good at almost anything you tried. You're not tied down to any one route or way. So why is it you feel the need to take from me when you know there's only one possible way for me, and there's so many for you?"


	5. Chapter 5

Author note:

To "guest" who keeps writing how biased this story is and that it is "Rachel hating":

This story is, first off, from Santana's point of view, of course it won't be necessarily favoring Rachel. But neither is it biased against her. The theme of the story is the two of them coming to terms with each other, and they are both at times portrayed unfavorably. because it is from Santana's point of view it will obviously seem as though Rachel is more in the wrong because again, it's her point of view and she will see it in her eyes. But Rachel and Santana both share their own view. This story is not putting Rachel down, it is merely not portraying things from her view. Surely you can acknowledge that Rachel was just as wrong as Santana in the course of their feud; both certainly did not behave maturely and kindly.

Chapter 5

Two days ago, even twenty minutes ago, this question would have immediately provoked Santana into a rage. How dare Rachel assume that everything she did had something directly to do with her, how dare she assume that Santana would deliberately set out to rival her or to ruin her? But Rachel had asked almost gently, sincerely, with sadness and hurt more than righteous indignation in her tone, and it was this shift that caused Santana to be able to take a deep breath and attempt to control her words and tone in response.

"I told you, Rachel, that's not what I'm doing. You didn't listen the first ten times," she couldn't resist adding, "but I meant what I said. I don't want to take anything from you and I don't want to deter your starry-eyed dreams from the cradle or whatever it is you think. I just…" and here Santana had to pause, thinking for herself what exactly it was that she did want. It seemed so easy to simply react based off it without analyzing it, without looking too closely and having to put it into words.

"I want to be seen," she said finally, puzzling though it for herself as much as for Rachel. "I want to be out there…I want people to know I'm amazing and see it and have to be forced to acknowledge it, make it where they can't shove me aside or put me out of their heads. Love me or hate me, they better see me…and this is the only shot I have for that right now."

Even as she tried to explain this, she was beginning to realize that the desire she was describing sounded exactly like one that Rachel herself could identify with all too well. Smiling with grim irony, Santana shook her head, knowing that Rachel was listening, and based off the way she was not jumping in to interrupt her or correct her, maybe even starting to understand, if that was at all possible.

"You should know, Rachel. All your life you forced people to see you, whether or not they wanted to, every time they tried to cut you down you jumped back up, well, as much as you can at your ridiculously tiny height," she smirked, ignoring Rachel's somewhat irritated nudge of her shoulder against hers. "You don't have a clue about it, most likely, but I've…sort of had to do that too. I know people were asses to you, and I didn't get that much past middle school, but that's because I made sure I wouldn't, however I had to."

She took another breath in, debating whether she should continue, but what the hell. Rachel was listening, they obviously had a lot of time on their hands, and she had already started; what more could it hurt to finish?

"I was always delegated to be in the background, to be one of the top, but not the head…the sidekick, the runner-up, never the outright victor," Santana explained finally. As she spoke she was picturing all those who had won out over her before, mostly Quinn, but others as well- even and including Rachel Berry herself. "I always had to fight and force my way up and then keep on fighting to keep up there, so I didn't slip down or get kicked down. I only had it for a little while, and now it's been so long since I've been on top I can't even remember what it felt like. I just…I just want to be there again, Rachel. Even now…even with this understudy thing, I'm not gonna be. You know that, don't you? I'm still beneath someone else. Beneath you," she rolled her eyes, giving a slightly bitter laugh. "But it's one step closer to getting up there again."

For another twenty to thirty seconds, there was silence between them, broken only by the soft noises of their breathing. It was the first time that Santana could recall in recent history where Rachel had nothing to say, or perhaps could not find words, when she was not actively choosing to ignore her. Just the thought of this made Santana uncomfortable enough to immediately start to talk again, trying to defend herself, to convince Rachel of the sincerity of her words, and she heard her tone get just slightly louder, more insistent when she spoke again.

"I wasn't trying to take anything from you, Rachel."

She wasn't convinced that Rachel was going to answer her at first, but then she heard the girl sigh, her words slow in coming in response to her.

"It's just…it's hard to believe that, Santana," she said finally, and though there was no hostility or even skepticism in her tone, there was a weariness that seemed bred from years of interactions rather than only weeks. "After everything that happened back in school…you did so much to people. You did so much to me. People were afraid of you, and I was a little bit, too, sometimes, to be honest. It seemed like you had everything you wanted or were well on your way to getting it at all times, and you seemed to have so much…you were nominated prom queen twice, you only dated the most popular boys when you were still dating males-"

"When I felt like I had no OPTION but to date boys," Santana interrupted, and Rachel exhaled, nodding acknowledgement of this, but continued to talk over her.

"I understand that, but still…it seemed like you didn't have to work for anything, Santana. Everything just seemed so easy for you…it seemed so easy to be you. You knew exactly who you were and what you wanted and you didn't seem to care or doubt that everyone else felt exactly the same way about you. You were so smart and beautiful and had so many friends and boyfriends, and you were a Cheerio and in honors and nominated prom queen twice, and it was just…you were never an outcast, no matter how cruel you were. You were always…you never seemed to struggle with anything. It just seemed so easy for you."

Santana knew that Rachel couldn't genuinely believe this, not anymore, or at least, she would have thought so. How would it be possible for her to know Santana and her life, to live with her for almost two years

and have been with her in Glee club, and still believe her one-sided fifteen-year-old view of her? How could she have witnessed Santana enhancing her breasts at sixteen, desperately trying to deny her sexuality and her love for Brittany, being forced out of the closet senior year and disowned by her grandmother, and still think for a second that she had everything together, that she was completely happy and confident and had it all figured out?

It would have almost been laughable if Santana didn't think that a piece of Rachel still, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, seemed to believed it was true. Even so she gave a faint laugh, shaking her head as she squeezed Rachel's hand for emphasis to her words.

"That's what I wanted you to think, Rachel, but it was a lie. How do you not know now that I was working my ass off every second of the day, never letting my guard down around anyone, not even all the way with Brittany sometimes? How do you not know how fucking miserable I was every single day? Do you have any idea what it's like to have people smile in your face and laugh with you and treat you like you're something special, then turn around the second they think you're out of earshot and gossip about you and know they're doing it, because you're doing it to them too? Because it's some kind of stupid rule you have to follow to cover your own ass even if you don't really want to at all? Do you know what it's like to spend every second knowing that even your supposed friends are constantly judging you and they're standing with knives held up ready to stab you in the back as soon as you let your guard down even a little bit? Do you know what it's like to know, just KNOW that no one likes you even as they're telling you how amazing you are to your face?"

Rachel gave a dry laugh, one that sounded to Santana's ears more like her own sarcastic one than one she was well accustomed to hearing from Rachel.

"Santana, I'm fairly sure I'm accustomed to hearing gossip about me and knowing no one likes me, seeing as you and your friends made this a daily practice for me for most of high school."

"I get that, Rachel, it was shitty and it sucked, and it shouldn't have happened, okay? But what I'm saying is different and if you'd listen you'd see it," Santana insisted, shaking her head. "At least you got honesty. You always knew where you stood with everyone and there was no games or lies, even if everyone was an ass to you. I never knew at any given time if anyone was telling me the truth or if I could trust anything, and I had to make it so no one could trust me either just to protect myself. Hurt them before they hurt me, embarrass them before they embarrass me, all that shit…it's not an excuse, but it's true."

She swallowed, noting that Rachel's hand had loosened in hers, that she did seem to be listening, if not yet fully accepting. Exhaling, Santana leaned her head back against the elevator wall, continuing softly.

"You don't know what it's like to have no one acknowledge that you're talented or even fully know everything you're capable of…everyone has always known that about you, because you forced them to see. You don't know what it's like to be playing a role and wearing a mask no matter where you go until you don't know who you are anymore at all. Rachel, I'm barely starting to really get who I am, let alone be okay with it, and I still don't know where I'm going," she admitted, her voice dropping, and she wanted to flinch at the note of vulnerability in her tone that even she could recognize. "You have from day one, even if no one else could accept or appreciate it. You still knew for yourself, and that's a freaking gift, Rachel. That's amazing. You don't understand how scary and confusing it is for people like me, who don't have that."

There was another prolonged pause between them before Rachel sighed. Santana felt her squeeze her hand as she answered her slowly.

"I guess I don't," she admitted. Rachel heard her breathe out again, and then Rachel's shoulder was slowly leaning into hers, with light pressure, just enough that Santana was fairly sure it was not accidental.

"You…you are talented, Santana," she admitted, seeming to find the words difficult to say. "You're talented and very intelligent, beautiful and charismatic as well, when you wish to be. And that…that's why you're threatening."

She swallowed again, then released her breath in a sigh. "I have the talent of course, and the intelligence, but the rest…I'm not always sure. And if you have all those traits, and I'm only banking on my talent…"

Santana could barely believe the insecurity coloring Rachel's words, the discomfort in her tone. She knew, of course, that Rachel was somewhat neurotic and overdramatic when stressed out. That much had become obvious even before they lived together. But she had thought the girl had developed more self-confidence when moving to New York, not that she had ever thought she had a shortage of it in the first place- especially once she started dressing more like a normal person and less like a cartoon character. She could understand Rachel being threatened or jealous, but considering that Santana felt the same way? It was genuinely laughable.

"Are you serious?" she shook her head, actually snickering aloud. "Please, Berry. Why do you think I didn't bother to come up with my own damn routine? How the hell would I ever outdo yours unless I did it naked?"

"Well, your breasts _are _fabulous," Rachel replied, and it was the musing tone to her words that made Santana laugh, a smile lingering after. She felt Rachel lightly squeeze her hand, the shoulder pressed into hers noticeably relaxing, and Santana lightly nudged her back with her own shoulder, letting her arm come into contact with Rachel's fully. For the first time in weeks, she registered, she was beginning to feel at ease around her, as though it were almost normal between them.

Santana could not remember when she had last talked so openly to someone about her feelings, or to anyone, really, but Brittany. Not for more than a minute or two at a time, not sharing genuinely more than a few scraps of information. When was it that her walls had gone back up? Had they ever fully been down? And why did it still matter to her, why did it seem important now that Rachel understand…that she take such a risk to try to help her understand?

She wasn't sure, but she also didn't feel like questioning it further. Instead she let herself lean lightly into Rachel, still holding her hand, and after several more moments of quiet, she finally let herself ask the question still lingering in the back of her thoughts.

"Rachel…did you mean it? About us…pretending to be friends. Do you really think that's true?"

Part of her wanted to take the question back as soon as she asked it. It was too open, too naked, too much. How was she going to take it if Rachel said yes? She had already put herself out there so much. How could she retract herself, protect herself, if Rachel would not do the same?

For the few moments before Rachel spoke, Santana's heart beat noticeably faster, and her mouth went dry with dread. But Rachel's voice came softer than expected, and the gentleness to it was like a soothing balm to her fear, slowly easing it away from its taut pressure against her chest.

"No…not really. I was upset and angry and…it wasn't truthful of me to say, even if I perhaps felt that it was at the time. I was…I was trying to hurt you, and make myself feel better, I suppose. But I know it was untruthful, Santana, and I do apologize for that."

She squeezed her hand lightly after saying this, and almost immediately, Santana squeezed back, surprising herself with how immediate and deep her relief swept over her. She was grateful then for the darkness as tears pricked at her eyes, that Rachel could not see her blink and close them tightly in an effort to keep them back before she could be reasonably sure she would show nothing in her voice when she spoke.

"Okay."

It was all she said; she still didn't trust her tone for much more. But her voice was soft, and Rachel squeezed her hand again, her voice equally soft when she spoke.

"Santana? If it's okay, I'm going to hug you now."

It was a familiar warning from her, one that had prefaced any efforts at any physical affectionate act from Rachel for the first year or so that she and Santana had even tentatively attempted to be friendly towards each other. In the past two years the warning had died out as physical affection became the norm and even expected rather than an exception or unusual occurrence, and hearing it now seemed so strange, yet so perfectly Rachel for the present situation that Santana laughed, squeezing Rachel's hand back with genuine affection.

"Yeah, well, I'm going to submit with long-suffering tolerance."

She was still smiling as Rachel's arms wrapped around her, gently at first, then more tightly as they found that familiar fit of their bodies that had become natural over time. As Santana's arms wrapped back around Rachel and she leaned her head against the other girl's, hooking her chin over her shoulder, she registered that Rachel seemed in no hurry to let go. She was not going to the be the first, and so she hung on, closing her eyes.

She didn't realize at first that the elevator lights were flickering, then slowly coming on, until she could sense the light from beneath her closed eyelids. When she opened her eyes, blinking in surprise, and heard the elevator beep, then give a sudden jerk as it began to descend downward, she nevertheless tightened her hold on Rachel, who had gasped aloud, her eyes wide with renewed anxiety.

"It's okay, it's okay…it's working. Halle-friggin-lujah, it's working!"

But even as the elevator came to a stop, and the doors opened up, the girls were nevertheless slow to disengage from each other, and when they walked out of the elevator's confines and into the lobby area of the apartment, they were still standing hand in hand. And when Rachel looked down at her suitcase, then towards the lobby door, where her cab was most likely still waiting for her, she exhaled aloud, squaring her shoulders.

"I have a terrifying cab fee to pay…and, well, it will be difficult for me to carry all my belongings upstairs on my own. If you would help me take some of them back up the stairs, I would appreciate that."

She dropped Santana's hand then, beginning to walk forward towards the doors, seeming confident that Santana would follow. And although Santana rolled her eyes, she couldn't hide her smile as she did exactly that.

Undoubtedly the next hour or so would be wrought with typical Rachel Berry dramatics; they would be met with Kurt's anxious questioning at the door, and Rachel would more than likely want to spend the next six hours or so hammering out all the details of their fractured yet apparently mending relationship. But as Santana trailed behind Santana to the cab, she refrained from making even her usual snarky comments in response. Because when she dropped the masks and guards, just for a second, she had to admit to herself, and Rachel must know, that at the moment, at least, there was nothing she wanted to do more.

End


End file.
